


Piqued Curiosity

by wildes



Category: British Actor RPF, Good Omens (TV) RPF, Staged (TV 2020)
Genre: First Time, M/M, crack but i got carried away
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:29:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26112670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildes/pseuds/wildes
Summary: When Michael finds out what fanfiction is, his curiosity is piqued.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Michael Sheen/David Tennant
Comments: 35
Kudos: 95





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> After five years of writing nothing, I'm back with a new, wildly inappropriate pairing! Hello.

“What’s that then, fanfiction?” Michael asks, nonchalantly. They have been filming series two of Good Omens for a couple of weeks now, and it feels like they've exhausted every topic on Earth. Michael takes a long sip of his wine. The hotel bar has already quieted around them.

David waves his hand dismissively and crinkles his nose. “Oh, you don’t want to know. It’s nothing.” David shifts in his seat and starts babbling nonsense about a film he’s seen on Netflix. 

Michael frowns. If he didn’t want to know before, he most certainly wants to now that someone’s trying to keep it from him.

“No, wait,” he says, cutting David off mid-sentence. David looks dismayed. “Tell me. Is it like – it’s not _porn_ , is it?”

“How should I know?” David says, high-pitched and defensive, pouring himself another glass of Merlot. “I don’t go out looking for it, Sheen.” His accent is stronger when he’s had a few drinks.

“But you know of it,” Michael presses, leaning forward in his chair. “It’s porn, isn’t it. They are writing pornography about our characters, that’s it, isn’t it?”

David rolls his eyes, leaning back. He sighs, looking resigned. “Yeah. Yep.”

“Oh,” Michael says, doesn’t really know what to do with the information now that he has it. “Okay, then. Great.” He considers this for a moment, then grins. “Can’t believe you are so sheepish about it.”

David opens his mouth to argue, but Michael cuts him off again, asking him something about the Netflix film. David jumps at the chance to change the subject, and soon they are talking about guilty pleasure reality shows.

In the back of Michael’s mind, though, his curiosity has been piqued.

**

Some two hours and a few more glasses of wine later, Michael’s back in his hotel room. He’s tired, but he picks up his laptop and opens it with a lop-sided smile. _He needs to know._

He has to laugh at himself when he types in questionable search words and hopes to god his laptop isn’t hacked and this won’t somehow end up on the front page of the Daily Mail. The search is shorter than expected. Somehow Michael had figured he would have to go in deep to find this stuff, but apparently his search had been expertly executed, as a few story titles grab his attention at once.

He clicks on the first one. Still, even through the haze of the somewhat copious amounts of alcohol and the amusement over what he’s doing, he feels slightly paranoid he’s about to accidentally share the page on Twitter.

His eyes dart on the words. The author’s notes read _Sorry. But also, you all know I’m not sorry, not really._

Michael has no idea what to make of that.

The story begins innocent enough, Crowley visiting Aziraphale in his bookshop, browsing through the horror section.

_“You have anything decent about demons?” Crowley hollers, emerging lazily from between the shelves. For once he’s not wearing his sunglasses, maybe because it’s just the two of them in the shop. Somehow, Aziraphale finds himself easily lost in those eyes, in the raw, tantalising beauty of them._

_“I’m afraid not,” he replies, a beat too late. Crowley considers him, and Aziraphale feels uneasy. Sometimes he thinks – fears – Crowley might be able to read him better than he lets on._

_“I am bored,” Crowley complains, taking a few steps forward. His eyes are still fixed on Aziraphale, looking at him so intensely Aziraphale feels like he can’t move, can’t breathe – and though he, admittedly, is an angel and doesn’t technically need to breathe, he starts to feel light-headed._

_“I – I’m ever so sorry to hear it,” Aziraphale offers meekly, swallowing. He notes how Crowley’s eyes move downward to watch how his throat works._

_“I might have a few ideas, Angel,” Crowley drawls, and suddenly his hand is on Aziraphale’s cheek._

_“What are you -” he begins, alarmed, but Crowley shushes him._

_“It’s okay. I’ll take care of you, okay? You just need to trust me for a minute.”_

_Aziraphale looks him in the eye. For all the evil he’s supposed to find there, he only manages to find kindness. Crowley looks earnest. His hand is still lingering on Aziraphale’s cheek, warm and so tempting._

_“But you are a demon,” Aziraphale breathes. Crowley’s so close now, hovering in his personal space. He smells something like cinnamon, sweet and familiar. “I can’t trust you.”_

_Crowley gives him a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, and for a second, Aziraphale regrets his words. He doesn’t like upsetting Crowley, it makes his insides curl up in a ball._

_“I’ll kiss you now, Angel,” Crowley says, little more than a whisper._

Michael blinks. The story goes on to describe an angel and a demon kissing, and for some reason, he finds he can’t stop reading. The story is ridiculous and out of character and yet, Michael doesn’t find it as funny as he thought he would. For some reason, his heart is pounding slightly.

There’s a part two to the story that’s pure filth, and Michael reads that, too, doesn’t even skip a word. He’s never really seen gay porn if not by accident and he’s certainly never read it. It’s odd to picture what’s essentially him and David doing these things. It unsettles him how much it’s not unpleasant.

Not at all unpleasant, in fact, rather the opposite.

Michael blames his hard-on on being drunk and laughs at himself, closes his laptop after carefully deleting his browser history and goes to sleep. He intends never to return to the world of fanfiction, but it has certainly been an experience.

 _What an odd night_ , he thinks, amused, before falling asleep. 

**

The next day, when he sees David, his heart skips a beat. He swallows.

“You alright?” David greets him, narrowing his eyes. “Hangover?”

“Yeah, a bit,” Michael says, even though it’s not really true. The truth would be something along the lines of, _spent an hour last night reading porn about our characters and now I see you and think of your naked body_ , but somehow he feels David wouldn’t appreciate the honesty. Michael’s stomach is full of inconvenient butterfly friends, yet he has to stifle a giggle. It’s so absurd.

“Right.” David considers him, frowning, making Michael feel exposed. David is a perceptive bugger, and Michael hastily tries to make him think of something else.

“I think Shooby should’ve won The Circle,” he blurts, placing his now empty cup of coffee on the table between himself and David, like a barrier.

**

Throughout the day he finds he sees David in a way he’s never seen him before. Of course, he’s always known he’s a dashing chap, all charm and beautiful bone structure, but he’s never stopped to think how – for a lack of a better word – gorgeous he is. 

“Cut,” the director says and Michael blinks. He grimaces. He needs to get his head out of his arse and try to remember to say his lines out loud instead of only lovingly gazing over at David, who is looking at him again with a quizzical, slightly worried expression on his face. He’s wearing the contacts so Michael knows he can basically see fuck-all, but somehow his gaze still manages to make Michael squirm.

 _Jesus_ , he thinks, panicked. _You are an old man, not a teenager._ Out loud he calls, “Sorry! What’s the line?” Even though he knows the line.

When the day is over, Michael retires to his room quickly, doesn’t stick around long enough to give anyone a chance to ask him down to the bar for drinks.

In his room, he looks at his laptop like everything is its fault. He takes a shower and gets comfortable in his bed. It has been a long day, and he had barely slept the night before, but he feels wide awake. His phone buzzes on the table but Michael doesn’t have it in him to reach for it.

Instead, he opens his computer and goes down a rabbit hole. When he clears the browser history, his heart pounding and chest still heaving from the orgasm, he isn’t sure he’s ever felt so bad.

He glances at his phone and sees a text from David. "Ok, I'll give it to you. Shooby should have won."

Michael feels even worse.

**

“Mate,” David says to him in the morning. “You look like crap.”

Michael forces a smile and scratches his head. “I haven’t been sleeping that well,” he says, which is true. As long as he doesn’t need to explain why, he isn’t lying and David won’t be able to tell he’s lying with his perceptive superpowers.

“Ah,” David says, all sympathy and big eyes, a hand coming up to rest on the small of Michael’s back for a second and it’s all Michael can do to keep from jolting. “Why’s that?”

That bloody bastard.

“I don’t know,” he stammers and it’s amazing, really, how he ever managed to become an actor, because apparently, he can't act for shit.

David appears to be thinking along the same lines. “Hey,” he says, voice low, glancing around as if to check there’s nobody around. “If there’s a problem you can tell me. I know I can be a tit sometimes,” he adds, like an afterthought, and Michael’s heart drops.

“It’s not -” he starts, alarmed, eager to at least make David understand that it’s nothing he’s done. “Mate, it’s not you – it’s me.”

David laughs at that. “Are you breaking up with me?” he teases, a wide grin spreading on his face. There’s a hint of a stubble on his face, and Michael wants nothing more than to run his fingers over it.

Michael smiles. “Dear,” he says warmly, “I would never.”

“Thought so,” David says, all flirt and charm. “See you tonight for drinks?”

“Of course,” Michael says, and watches as David disappears to the make up trailer.

 _This is it_ , Michael thinks, _this is the midlife crisis._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, Michael's been reading fanfic. According to gin and tonic, David needs to see it too.

The evening goes… better than Michael had figured, thank you very much.

Sure, there is eyeliner from filming still smudged in the corners of David’s eyes – Michael sure doesn’t notice, and his gaze definitely does _not_ flicker that way every so often. No, sir.

And maybe Michael drinks a few more than he probably maybe possibly should, considering they are filming again tomorrow morning. It is not a problem, though, because David’s laughing, baring his teeth and throwing his head back, at something Michael just said.

That? Kind of makes everything worth it.

He watches as David’s lips curl around the head of his beer bottle. It shouldn’t be mesmerising but, well, Michael’s _drunk_ , and David looks _great_ , and –

Michael hears himself saying the words before he realises what he’s doing.

“I read it,” he blurts, stammers over the words and clutches his glass of gin and tonic like his life is depending on it, and maybe it is.

David raises a questioning eyebrow. “What?” he says, nonplussed, and that’s good, it means he didn’t understand what Michael meant, and therefore it’s not too late to fix this, it’s not too late to pretend he didn’t say anything at all –

“The stories. Of, you know, us doing the deed, _hiding the sausage_ , David.”

David’s mouth forms a perfect ‘O’ and his eyebrows rise to high heavens. He looks so dazed Michael kind of wants to laugh, but his heart is hammering too hard in his chest.

“Yep,” he says, just to fill the silence. “And David,” he adds, leaning closer as if to let David in on a secret, “Man, it’s not half-bad.”

David lets out a small laugh that sounds more like a squeak, but Michael will take what he can get at this point. David’s blinking rapidly, shaking his head, and for a fleeting moment Michael thinks David is just going to call him a sick bastard and run off.

And maybe that would have been easier, maybe then Michael could have got over this… thing he has developed for his co-star in less than 48 hours, but then, that was never going to happen, because David is pretty cool like that.

“Right,” David says at last, and maybe it’s a little high-pitched and maybe he’s fiddling with the label of his beer bottle and not looking Michael in the eye, but there’s a smile on his face. Michael sighs, relief washing over him. “I’m going to regret asking, but what did you find?”

And Michael knows he really shouldn’t push this, knows it’s a fucking miracle David’s still sitting across the table from him.

“I can show you,” Michael says and _christ_ , what is _wrong_ with him? Why can’t he control his tongue? He downs the rest of his gin and tonic and okay, maybe the alcohol might be a small part of the problem. “Just don’t let me order another round,” Michael mutters, standing up. His feet feel a little bit wobbly, but he steadies himself against the table. “You coming?”

David runs a hand through his hair. “I guess?” he says and follows Michael out of the pub.

They walk together in silence. Michael risks a few glances towards his friend and is relieved to see David still smiling faintly. Outside Michael’s hotel room Michael suddenly finds himself hesitating.

“Would you like to come in for another drink?”

“You literally told me not to let you drink any more ten minutes ago,” David says rolling his eyes, but he steps inside Michael’s room regardless.

Michael shrugs. “Didn’t say anything about _you_ drinking, though, did I?”

David grins. “Trying to get me drunk, Sheen?”

“Already did,” Michael says and throws David a small bottle of booze from the minibar.

“True,” David admits, sitting on the edge of Michael’s bed, and _damn him_ for just hanging out on Michael’s bed like it’s nothing. He watches as David crosses his long legs. “You were going to show me something?” David asks, looking expectant, and Michael swallows.

He never expected David to play along. David’s licking his tongue across his lips, and either he’s doing so deliberately slowly or then time has slowed down. Michael sort of wants to slap himself over the face to sober up a little. Instead he slides over and sits next to David on the bed, their shoulders touching.

He sits quiet for a moment, considering, or rather trying to consider, but he’s still pretty comfortably buzzed, and rational thoughts? Not happening.

“Michael?” David prompts, and his voice is soft, tempting.

Michael nods to himself. If David wants Michael to show him, show David he shall.

“It went something like this,” Michael mumbles, grabs David by the front of his t-shirt and yanks him forward until their noses are an inch apart. The warmth of David’s breath washes over Michael’s face. David smells of alcohol and hair gel. Curling a possessive hand around David’s neck, Michael closes the distance between them, kissing David messily.

Their teeth clink together at once and Michael growls, twists his head to a better angle, and sucks on David’s lower lip. _God_ , he has no idea what he’s doing, he’s never kissed a man like he means it, but he knows he doesn’t want to stop. David’s warm and he opens his mouth when Michael touches his lip with his tongue. David’s inviting him in, and the knowledge sends violent shivers down Michael’s spine as he moans, grabbing David’s thigh and trying to push him down on the bed.

David lets out a shaky breath and Michael has a moment to see his face. He looks beautiful (well, duh), his cheeks red, eyelashes fluttering. Something about seeing him like that, on Michael’s _bed_ , flips a switch inside Michael’s brain and he moves his hand over to David’s crotch, cupping him through his jeans. David’s hard, or at least getting there, and Michael feels fucking triumphant.

The feeling lasts for like two seconds before David freezes against him. Suddenly the atmosphere changes and Michael’s heart is too loud in his chest and unwittingly he knows he’s just managed to fuck this up.

“And in this part,” he says meekly, not really recognising his own voice, continuing to dig his own hole, “you were – Crowley was – pretty much begging…” 

“Christ, Michael,” David breathes and looks at Michael’s hand that is still on David’s crotch for some stupid reason and Michael pulls away as if he’s been electrocuted.

“Shit, sorry,” Michael says, and it sounds stupid even to his own ears. He turns away, shame burning his face and twisting in his stomach. For a few moments he’s sure he’s about to throw up.

“You know when you said you were going to show me,” David says behind him, “I really thought you were going to make me read the story.”

Michael doesn’t know what to say to that, so he says nothing, just buries his face in his hands and wishes to god he’ll wake up tomorrow not remembering any of this.

“Think I preferred this, though,” David says slowly. Michael looks up, stunned. David's grinning, looking almost mischievous. He stands up and stretches, his t-shirt riding up to reveal skin. Michael's pretty sure he's gaping, but he can't help it, and it's hardly the worst thing he's done tonight, so, whatever. "Maybe one day you could show me more," David says, walks across the room to the door, then pauses. "Good night, angel."

Before Michael falls asleep he makes a promise to himself to read and re-enact everything that's ever been written about Crowley and Aziraphale.

There can't be that much, can there?


End file.
